things change

upon writing I find myself caught up

not in the way we used to be

not a cherry blossom way either

caught higher than I've been

seen where I don't care to hide

riding waves with tides

braver than the wise

things change I said and your palms bleed

its not that I hadn't noticed I

just didn't want to point out my mistake

admiration is thick for your portrait is yet to dry

one painted long ago by a brush that ceases to be

never to be added to but always to cherish

I remember the day my charge was done

the sweat that poured, the cut on my chin

my shadow leering in the corner, wondering

Miss shaped took place,  my dreaming eyes

painted more than I saw, more than was there

for had I imagined
 only a hollow shell,

that is what I would have made, but I saw

so much more. I painted your portrait well

and that idea is mine, you wouldn't dare take

another picture from the wall and declare it yours

change it to suit you,

no,

you accept them,

to hell with them.

I am that I am.

my mind is my own.

I'll pull your pictures off the wall

declare them mine, shatter all the mirrors

because I cant stand to see mee

scream leave me alone, they'll fall

one by one, the pillars of your mind

until it happens again

I will tear at them

think of a magnifying glass

do you want to see what's really there

or do you really, really care.